Never try to trick me with a kiss
by Frayed Misfit
Summary: A series of short intervals in Severus' teenage years, pieced together by Sylvia Plath's poem and some ambiguous imagery.


**Disclaimer: **Severus Snape is not mine, he only wishes he was. The poem (noted in italics) is by my muse, Sylvia Plath, and I do not own her either.

**Author's note: **This is merely a fractured piece of writing, I am trying to develop the various facets of Sev's personality, placing him in different situations and such. Try not to take this all too seriously but please review!

This character sketch is for **Dizi 85 **who loves Snape just as much as I do.

**Never Try to Trick me with a Kiss. **

****

_Never try to trick me with a kiss  
Pretending that the birds are here to stay;  
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this. _

The small pebbles catch between his toes as he curls and unfurls them on the beach. The sun beats unmercifully down from its place in the sky, mocking his almost opaque skin.

He is glad for the heat to hide the blush that paints his cheek, the beach is unfamiliar territory, and really, he can't understand what all the fuss is about.

Of course, he'd never tell her that.

She laughs at him in her ruffled bikini, standing so easily on the rocky shore, the wind playing with her auburn hair.

"Come on Sev!" She calls, her voice catching on the wind that brushes his hair out of his face, the salt in the wind stings his eyes, rubbing against his eyelids. But he does not complain.

She had brought him along on her summer holiday, she had chosen him.

They lay along the sea side, the air heavy with a sleepy summer, with the promise of dreams.

She danced along the pier, her white sandals tracing pirouettes amongst the rusted nails. His eyes grew used to seeing her there, even when he slept.

_A stone can masquerade where no heart is  
And virgins rise where lustful Venus lay:  
Never try to trick me with a kiss. _

Severus leans against the castle wall; the bitter wind blows snowflakes into his dark curtain of hair, they latch onto his eyelashes like an orphaned child.

All of the other students prefer to stay inside while it is snowing, but the way that it bites into his skin makes him feel alive. It allows him to be aware of himself.

Lifting a gloved hand into the drift he watches as the snow settles and melts into the black leather. Such a brief yet dazzling life.

He is aware of the rough stones behind him, they are wet from the snow, they pinch the skin on his back.

They make him remember pain.

His mother's face swims behind his eyelids, bruised and swollen from his father's hand.

His father condemned them for being magical.

He hated his father for being a mudblood.

Filthy mudblood.

The snow fell in peaceful patterns around his fractured soul.

_Our noble doctor claims the pain is his,  
While stricken patients let him have his say;  
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this. _

Lucius Malfoy strokes the top of his head, peering down at him from his manufactured height.

Severus thinks he is a patronising fuck.

"So Severus can handle the invitations and Theodore can do the placement cards?"

Severus thinks Lucius is a dictator, forcing the entire Slytherin house to make whimpy items for his engagement party.

Why couldn't the house elves do it?

"Why can't the house elves do it?"

"Because it's more fun making you do it Severus, and I know you love glitter, and love hearts and pink bows."

Severus is about to bite the bait but knows it is best to store the fury. He places it deep inside, in a locked box full of anger and resentment.

It eats his insides like a parasite, but he won't let it out.

Not yet.

_Each virile bachelor dreads paralysis,  
The old maid in the gable cries all day:  
Never try to trick me with a kiss. _

Severus wrapped his legs around her in the spring afternoon. The dandelions tickled his bare hands as he leant back into the grass.

They had found a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, where the sunlight had filtered in through the tall canopy of historical trees allowing a garden of flowers to grow amongst the thick grass.

Lily looked down at him over the paperback novel, her eyes twitching into a smile.

"So, you never told me. What do you want to be after school? Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?" She leaned her head on one side, Severus knew that means she was listening.

"10 years is a long time Lils!" He laughed but paused to consider the question. "I would like to have my own house, with piles of books instead of tables, and a room just for brewing potions. I'd like to make my own potions, you know, discover them. Maybe travel to find exotic ingredients, things like that. What about you, you never told me either?"

Lily turned to lie down beside him, resting her head on his chest, she could hear the rhythmic murmurs of his heart, tangling her hand within his own.

"I want to be happy, like properly happy," she turned to look at him, to make sure he understood, "and I want to help people, the abused, the sick, the homeless, the bullied, the young, the old, the poor. Everyone. People amaze me, I wish I could be every person for one day, so I could come back and understand them all".

He twisted a daisy into her hair.

_The suave eternal serpents promise bliss  
To mortal children longing to be gay;  
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this. _

She turned to face him, her eyes filled with malice.

He lifted a practiced hand to place on her shoulder but she quickly shrugged it off.

"There is nothing you can say to me Severus that will change my mind. Can't you see that you've already hurt me enough!"

"Lily, please just let me understand, my father…"

"That doesn't give you the right to act the way you do."

"I'm sorry, Lily, please, I'm sorry."

"Love means never having to say you're sorry, Severus."

He did the only thing that he knew, he took her chin in his hand and pulled her into him, their lips opening for each other.

She ripped brutally out of his grasp, her body shaking.

"Never try to trick me with a kiss."

_Sooner or later something goes amiss;  
The singing birds pack up and fly away;  
So never try to trick me with a kiss:  
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this. _


End file.
